


Sometimes (We Take Chances)

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early on in the Summer of Like. All-night bus trips, and Pete is so into Mikey he can't even stand it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes (We Take Chances)

**Author's Note:**

> For pearl_o, who I went to for prompts, and she gave me _Pete/Mikey, awkwardest phone sex EVER._ It's not quite what she requested, but I can't help Pete Wentz being a giant girl.
> 
> THANK YOU AGAIN to mrsronweasley for betaing and for controlling my tenses and for remembering that Mikeyway needs orgasms, too. ♥

They headed out in a vaguely messy caravan just when the sun was going down, casting this hushed reddish-orange light over everything: the faces of the disheveled musicians, the asphalt of the parking lot, glinting off the hot metal of the busses. They had a long ride to the next venue – it's going to be an all-night trip.

Pete was okay with that. All-night trips are actually better than hotel nights for him - with the road under the bus rumbling beneath him, someone always awake up front driving, surrounded by his favorite people in the world - he just felt less alone, less frantic, less crazy. He still didn't sleep very much, but he didn't feel bad about it; the rocking of the bus and the miles being eaten up beneath him made him feel like he was going someplace, even if it wasn't to sleep.

They'd been on the road about ten minutes, but Pete was already in his bunk, listening to the guys playing Xbox down in the lounge area, whooping and wrestling with each other. Muted, though, back here, and Pete settled back against his pillows, bare feet tucked into the covers shoved at the bottom of the bunk, and texted Mikey. _wish u were here_

He waited, not even putting the phone down, because Mikeyway always had his phone on him. Always. He never didn't open a text except, like, on stage. Pete's phone buzzed, and he grinned, and flipped open his phone happily.

 _its been ten minutes. ur a girl._

Pete smiled again. _whatever u luv it_

It took like twenty seconds for a response to come back. _where r u_

The bus jostled a little and rocked Pete in his bunk. He sometimes thought it was like being a baby bird in a nest. _bunk_ he typed.

There was a longer wait this time - longer than there ever, pretty much, was with Mikey, like, five whole minutes, and Pete had his toes curled into the sheets, bored and scrolling through the contacts on his phone, but mostly just waiting. Then his phone buzzed. _Call me_

And - okay. Mikey never preferred calls to texting. Ever. He'd talk on the phone, sure, but not unless he had to, and never for very long. Pete bit his lip, grinning. Like a girl. Like a _teenaged_ girl.

Then he scrolled down to _mikeyfuckinway_ (the best part of that was that he'd tossed his phone to Mikey way back at the start of Warped - back when he'd only had a tiny glimpse of how very fucking cool he might turn out to be, but still thought he was worth taking a chance on - and asked him to program his own number in. That was how Mikey had put himself in there. Pete kind of loved that) on his list and pressed send.

"Hey," Mikey said when he picked up, after about half a ring.

"Hi." Pete sort of wished he had a phone cord to play with. The things you missed out on with cell phones. "How are you doing?" He played with the sheet on the bed instead – making mountains and valleys out of the pink and purple striped fabric.

There was a moment of silence. "Same as the last time you saw me, like, twenty minutes ago. You know."

"Right," Pete said. "But now I'm bored, and you're on another bus, and I can't just come get you and drag you over here."

There was a rustling noise from the other end of the phone. "Probably not, no."

"Where are you?" Pete asked curiously. There were no other voices in the background.

"Bunk," Mikey said.

"Where are the guys?" Pete closed his eyes, trying to picture Mikey right now. If he was in the back alone, that meant the other guys were either up front (like his band, playing video games), or in that room in the way-back making music together. Which Mikey was missing out on, in order to be on the phone with Pete. Maybe.

Long pause. "Toro is in the back with Gee, working on a song. Frank and Bob are up front, doing whatever it is that Frank and Bob do." There was a short pause, like Mikey was thinking about it. "Annoying each other. I guess."

"I have you to myself, then." Pete wasn't good at editing his thoughts before they come out of his mouth at the best of times. He was even worse than usual when he was talking to Mikey.

"You do." Mikey sounded – well, Mikey sounded like Mikey. There was no tone, there was no teasing, there was certainly no flirting, except for how – sometimes, Pete thought there was. Because Mikey was there alone in the bunk, with just Pete on the phone and no one else around. Pete could picture it – over the last few weeks, a few times, Pete had crawled in the bunk with Mikey, at the end of long nights of music and sweating their hearts out on stage. When they were just worn out and wrung out and Pete was too wired to sleep, too wound up to let go of Mikey just yet, and he just needed to be close to someone. Close without it being complicated or weird or funny. And Mikey got that from the very fucking start.

"God, Mikey." Pete slid further down the bunk, twisting to bury the side of his face into the pillow, the phone still pressed to his other ear. "I like you _so much_." It wasn't what he'd meant to say. He'd meant to say he was tired, he was so fucking tired, and it wasn't the tour, it was all the rest of it – trying to sleep at night, trying to stay awake during the day, trying to just stay on top of everything like everyone else seemed to manage to do with no problem.

For a few seconds, all Pete heard was the weird muted rumble of the wheels of the bus against the road, in quiet stereo between Mikey's bus and his own. Then Mikey said, "I can hear the music the guys are making in the back room."

"Yeah?" said Pete, trying to listen, like he'd be able to hear it over a cell phone or something, but trying just the same.

"They sound good." More rustling, like Mikey was settling in a little bit. Maybe taking his glasses off, putting them carefully aside, so he could rub at his eyes. Mikey had a few problems sleeping, too. "They've been working on this one riff for, like, ever."

"Do they need you for that?" Pete actually hated himself a lot for even saying it, like he was offering, like he even had the right to offer, like he was the one in charge of Mikey's time or some stupid fucking thing like that.

"Nope."

Something in Pete's chest eased up a little bit. "Well, yay," he said softly.

"Pete." There wasn't any tone, there really wasn't, but Pete heard something there, anyway. "So."

"So." Pete's hand was resting on his stomach, and he pushed his shirt up a little bit so it was against the warm skin of his belly. Last night, he and Mikey had stayed up really late, curled up in Mikey's bunk together, talking real easy until the wee small hours of the morning. Mikey was longer, lankier than Pete, and he'd ended up half-curled around him in the bunk there, his long fingers resting against Pete's t-shirt, pretty much where Pete's own hand was right now. "Mikey, what do you think about?"

There was that pause again, and Pete could picture Mikey not-grinning. "When?" he said, like he was curious, not like Pete was crazy.

"Whenever. In general. Now. I'm not picky." Pete just wanted to _know_. He wanted in on that.

"I –" Mikey stopped, and Pete could hear him chewing on his lip. "I don't –"

"Now," Pete said softly, sort of amazed at the fact that it was coming out of his own mouth. "What are you thinking about right now?" His hand was drifting lower, his fingers catching on the waist of his jeans, and he thumbed the button open without really thinking about it. He was maybe kind of holding his breath. Maybe kind of _waiting_.

Long silence then, but that was okay, Pete was a patient guy. "I'm." Mikey stopped. "I could see your bus from the window of the front lounge," he said finally. "When we were driving off. It was right next to us."

"Oh," Pete said, taking in a breath that was probably too loud.

"Yeah," Mikey said, and Pete moved his hand down further, unzipped his jeans. He wrapped his hand loosely around his dick, not really doing anything, just holding it.

"I –" Pete had to clear his throat. "I saw you getting on your bus." He had. Mikey's skinny frame in the black skeleton t-shirt, levering himself up onto the bus, Gerard behind him giggling at something Mikey had just said. It had made Pete's throat tight, like he was jealous, maybe, that Mikey was making someone else happy. "I wish –" He shut his eyes, his hand still around his dick, which was getting hard, now, interested.

"Yeah," Mikey said, so that Pete didn't have to finish the thought, and god, Pete fucking loved him _so much_. "Yeah, I – "

"Mikey," Pete said, cutting him off. "Can I – I want –"

"Yes." Mikey's voice hadn't changed, there wasn't any desperation or breathlessness there, but he said, "Yeah, Pete, just –"

Pete breathed out into the phone, his eyes shut so tight, not even knowing if Mikey knew exactly what he was saying yes to. "You're so –" he said, his hand moving on his dick, stroking it slowly, trying really fucking hard to figure out if Mikey was doing the same, right now, in his bunk. In his bus, eating up the asphalt, maybe right nearby Pete's own. Maybe they're only separated by two metal walls and a couple of feet of air, instead of the million fucking miles away Pete felt right now.

"What?" Mikey asked, and Pete had to trace back in his head to figure out what Mikey was asking.

"You're so different," he said finally, and his voice sounded rough, to his own ears, uneven, like he'd been running. Like he'd been jerking off. Which – his hand was still moving slow and steady over his cock, and he was excited, he was so fucking into Mikey he couldn't even take it.

Mikey laughed, not mean, laughed like Pete had said something really funny. "You're not the first to say that," he said. Pete thought maybe he sounded a little breathless.

"I meant it in a good way." Pete opened his eyes, looked up at the ceiling of his bunk as he moved his hand on his cock, his thighs clenching, really getting into this, even though it was so dumb, it was so stupid, and he wasn't not even sure if Mikey was even – "I meant, I've never met anyone like you. Anyone I've liked more than you."

Then he shut his mouth, tight, breathed through his nose, determined not to say one more stupid thing pretty much ever again.

Mikey breathed out, like he was laughing still, maybe, or maybe like he was touching himself the same way Pete was. Alone in his bunk, the phone pressed against his hot face, jeans pushed down his thighs, shirt pushed up his chest, his long fingers wrapped around himself, trying to keep quiet in the bunk there, so he could just –

" _Mikey_ ," Pete said, without even meaning to.

"Pete," and Mikey was just so fucking _Mikey_ , Pete groaned into the phone in exasperation.

"Give me something, here," Pete said, and he could hear the desperation in his own fucking voice.

There was silence for a handful of beats, and Pete thought he should stop this, but he didn't, his hand kept moving on his dick, steadily and hot, and he was into this, it was so fucking stupid, but he was, he was in deep, and he was sweating through the back of his t-shirt, and his cock was leaking into his hand, and he was just so very –

"I miss you," Mikey said, then cleared his throat, "too." And then he said it again, all in a rush. "I miss you, too."

Pete's breath hissed in as he tried to hold on, but it was too late, because he was coming, then, all over his hand and his last clean t-shirt. "Fuck," he said, wildly, because he was dizzy with this. "Oh fucking hell, Mikeyway." He drew in a gasping breath, and put his arm over his eyes, trying to pull himself together. "Fuck."

Mikey was silent on the other end of the line, but Mikey's silences were more telling than most other people's conversations. "Mikey," Pete said. "You – I just –" His fingers curled up tight in the sheets. "I wish I was fucking there with you right now. I could just – I want to –"

"Pete –" That's all Mikey said, and he wasn't panting or moaning or anything like that, but his voice got tight, like his head was thrown back, like he was _close_.

"Yeah," and Pete's own voice sounded rough and fucked-up, and he was holding onto his phone so hard his hand ached. "Yeah, Mikey, come on."

There was the softest gasp on the other end of the phone, almost drowned out by the sound of the bus' engine. A few seconds went by, then Mikey said, sounding ragged, "I wish you were, too."

Pete breathed in. His bunk smelled like sex now. He was grinning without even thinking about it. "It's been, like, half an hour. Maybe you could survive without me for a night or something? Jeez."

Mikey grinned. Pete was sure of it. He could hear it in the quiet of the phone. "Shut the fuck up, asshole."

Pete wriggled happily in his bunk. He was fucking exhausted. "You love it."

"You're a whore," Mikey said sincerely.

"Thank you." Pete's eyes were heavy and it was only, like, six thirty at night, but he was crashing. "I'm crashing," he mumbled into the phone.

"I know. Me too." Mikey was quiet for a second, and god, Pete really wanted to fall asleep just like this, Mikey's nearly silent breathing in his ear, like they were there together or something. "Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning at the venue."

"Yeah." Pete yawned, and Mikey yawned back, immediate and loud. God, Pete fucking loved this guy. "Yeah."

"Sleep." There was a second or two of quiet, then Mikey hung up, and Pete was alone in the bunk. He slid his phone shut and tossed it aside, his ear hot from where he'd been holding it. He curled himself up against the sheets, flailing to tug the blanket over his shoulder, cold suddenly in the closeness of the bunk. Tomorrow. And the whole rest of the summer stretching out ahead of them.

He fell asleep to the rhythm of the road beneath the wheels, and dreamed of text messages and being late for classes he never took.

the end 


End file.
